Page 43 of My Fake Italian Marriage

How did she not know this about him? Everyone she’d ever known watched movies. But come to think of it, in all their many, many conversations, they’d never discussed their favourite movies, though that was one of her standard first date questions. How was she going to pull off making people believe they were married, when she didn’t even know this about him?

“But you have a television?” she asked.

“Only for the sports.” He grinned. “Maybe in England, where the weather is always terrible, you watch a lot of television. But here I have many better things to do with my time, food, friends, football, music, books.”

All topics they’d covered. She blew out a breath. Maybe this wouldn’t be so difficult to pull off.

He patted her arm. “It’s okay. If anyone asks, I will tell them you are not comfortable with public affection. They will believe it easily.”

That made her indignant. “I’m not a prude!” She was far more adventurous and open to new experiences than most of her friends, and always willing to give people a chance. Well, maybe except Luca.Himshe’d judged before she’d even met him.

“You are from England,” Luca explained. “Everyone knows that English people are reserved.” He leaned in closer, dropping his voice. “And since everyone here knows me, they already knowIam not afraid to show my affection publicly.”

That shouldn’t have sounded sexy, but a shiver whispered through her. Yes, Luca was definitely more touchy-feely than most British men, but in the best of ways. He wasn’t grabby, as if he was trying to get a piece of her, but it was as if the touches were unconscious, a part of who he was, drawing her in, seducing her. Like a crab spider seducing its prey.

A kaleidoscope of images flashed through her brain. His hand on her lower back as he guided her through the streets of Montalcino. Holding hands as they walked along the lake edge in Como. The dozens of times on the stand at the wine show, when he’d touched her arm or her shoulder as they talked. The way he’d held her when they danced, their bodies pressed together, thighs and hips and hands touching.

Waking this morning with his arm around her and his erection pressed against her.

She cleared her throat and stepped back, not that the increased distance made much difference to her suddenly soaring temperature and the blush burning her cheeks. “Well, that’s agreed then. No public displays of affection.”

“What other conditions do you have?” he asked, expression amused as he looked at the finger she still held up in mid-air. She quickly dropped her hand.

“Second, we need to agree an exit strategy.”

His brows pulled together in confusion.

“You know … a reason for our split when I leave. I have a friend who lives nearby and want to be able to visit her from time to time without the whole town believing I ran out on you.”

“That is easy: The Fioravanti Curse.”

“You plan to cheat?” Despite the fact that she had no claim on him whatsoever, she didn’t like that idea. The thought of him sleeping with another woman made her want to sharpen her own pitchfork.

Luca shrugged. “Everyone would believe it of me, and they will feel sorry for you.”

“Your family’s Catholic. How will they handle it if you tell them we got a divorce?”

“My parents are not very religious, and you would not be the first woman to divorce an unfaithful Fioravanti husband.”

She blew out a breath. “And finally, we need an origin story. When people ask how we got together and what our wedding was like, we need to have the same answers.”

“That’s easy. We spent a lot of time working together the last few weeks, got to know each other, and fell in love. Then we tell everyone we stopped in Florence on our way to Como, and impulsively decided to get married.”

“No one will believe we simply walked into a church and said “Please marry us.” Aren’t there legal requirements to marry in Italy? What about banns? And I’m not even Catholic!”

“We couldn’t walk into a church, no, but it’s not so difficult to get married here. Tourists do it all the time. We could tell my family we had a civil wedding in the Sala Rossa.” He smiled knowingly. “See, you are picturing it already. That will help us to be more convincing.”

“You said bookings had to be made months in advance,” she pointed out.

“But the mayor is an old friend. He could have pulled strings to arrange it for us.” His smile turned to an impish grin. “But my parents are so desperate for me to do my duty to the family, they won’t think to ask those questions. Trust me.”

He sounded confident, but she wasn’t yet entirely convinced. “Have you thought about what happens when this charade ends? When you go back to your law practice and we leave someone who isn’t family running the vineyard, don’t you think your parents will be even more disappointed?”

“That is tomorrow’s worry. I have faith we’ll find the right person to run the vineyard.” He shrugged in that Latinate way that suggestedwhat happens, happens. “Besides, it won’t be anything new that I disappoint them.”

He spoke so matter-of-factly that a pang of sympathy echoed through her. No, she needed to be practical about this, not sentimental. She couldn’t worry about what would happen to Luca after she left. He was a big boy. He could take care of himself. She was here to save the vineyard, and nothing else. And to save the vineyard she needed to ensure that Giovanni Fioravanti handed over the business. Doing that would indeed be easier if he wasn’t fighting her every step of the way. She had to treat it like a business arrangement, as Sarah had said. But without the benefits.

She squared her shoulders. “Fine. I’ll pretend to be your impulsively wedded wife until we hire the new manager and vintner.”

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